Fog

Black fog swirls around me lazily, caressing me with each languid tendril. I'm trying to avoid the cracks - in the floor, in the walls, in the ceiling but I can't see anything. Everything is grey and black and more grey. The fog envelops me like an old friend, but it's something sinister. It curls around my arms and my legs, rising to cup my shoulders, asking me to join it. I don't want to, but it compresses itself around me and suddenly everything feels heavy. There's a weight against my chest and there is pressure in my skull. Black spots block my vision, like a rogue eyelash floating around on your eyeball - you can see it but you can never quite get close enough to look right at it. The cracks in the ground start to judder and creak. I begin to fall, dragging my nails down the walls with a sickening screech, trying to find something to grasp onto.